All American Boy?
by serendipities
Summary: As the unimaginative title suggests, this is All-American Girl in David's point of view. There's not much more I can add to this short summary other than the fact that it's gonna be really good!
1. Preamble

Disclaimer: I'm just a fan in the world. That's all that you'll let me be.

AN: Happy 4th of July, everyone!! Anyway, what better day to start an _All-American Girl _fic than today, hm? So, I was pushed to write this after _still_ getting terrific reviews for that story I wrote two years ago. You guys are truly wonderful. I wish this was like Facebook, so I can tag you all or thank you for your awesomeness. But, alas, I can only hope that you will find this story.

So, this is basically AAG in David's POV. Yeah yeah, it's probably been done before. But I've always wanted to this and hopefully, it's as different as it can be from the others, considering how most of the dialogue will be the same (haha). Also, almost all of the chapters will just be interactions between Sam and David because, frankly, that's all anyone cares about, am I right?

So, this chapter is sort of a preamble (reference to the constitution!), just some David back story, so no Sam just yet. I hope he sounds boyish enough...

* * *

Being the president's son is not all that it's cracked up to be. I guess people have this idea that I'm supposed to feel really privileged and really lucky and so on and so forth. I'm don't. I think the word "sucks" accurately sums up my life.

After my father so selflessly ran for and won the presidency, not giving a flying fuck about what me or my mom thought about it, and made us move to the nation's capital, I basically became devoid of any social life. Not to say that there is nothing to do in D.C. or that there are no interesting people in D.C.; it is _quite_ the opposite, particularly the interesting people part. It's really because of my school.

Upon attending Horizon, I've been subjected to academic competitiveness of the highest level and weird looks because my dream school is not MIT or one of the Ivies. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a complete loner. I've made pseudo-friends with a couple of decent people but I mean...these kids listen to classical music and solve integrals for fun. I listen to ska and punk rock and spend my MV calc period drawing unflattering caricatures of my classmates. You do the math (no pun intended).

And it's not like all private schools are like that. The one back in Houston was really great. Not only was it one of the highest ranked private schools in our nation, the people there actually had a life outside school and I had made some pretty good relationships, considering I'd gone there for most of my life. Also, my school abolished the uniform policy in the 60's. Enough said.

But living halfway across the country makes it kind of difficult to communicate with my friends on a regular basis. I mean, we talk every once in a while and six months after the inauguration, I even had a couple of people visit for a few days – for some reason, they were really excited about staying at my place – and it was exactly like old times. To make things more awesome, Reel Big Fish was conveniently playing at the 9:30 club the day before they left and we all got in for free because of my First Kid status. So, I guess it has some perks.

But I'd definitely trade these insignificant perks to get things back the way they used to be. Now, it's just an existence of suits and pleated pants and trailing after my dad, listening eagerly and pretending to agree with everything he says.

Almost a year after moving, I'm still the same morose loser that I was before. But I'm not complaining.

One good thing my parents did – well actually my mom. Remember, not a flying fuck – is sign me up for art lessons by Susan Boone. I didn't really know much about her before taking her class but I soon found out that she's nothing short of brilliant. She knows everything there is to know about art and she's into everything from Pollock to Warhol and her stuff is just amazing. Also, I've really gotten to know her in the past couple of months and she's a great person to talk to; she's really my only true friend here. I'm not ashamed to admit it: if she was 40 years younger, I would totally try to get in her pants. But none of that _Harold and Maude_ shit for me. Besides, she has a boyfriend.

But as much as I like Susan's class, I'm the youngest and I sort of wish there was another person my age. In fact, I initially thought this would be a great opportunity to befriend other kids who are art buffs like me. But, alas, my generation suffers from I-think-I-know-everything syndrome, so most kids would think art class would take away precious time from making crap depictions of the plight of the American youth or something lame like that. And Susan's classes cost a ton of money, so I doubt anyone other than depressed, middle-aged people, who want to do something with their life and hence decide to take up art class, even though they don't have an ounce of creativity in them, can and are willing to afford her.

So, I basically gave up the hope of ever meeting a kindred spirit and decided to just focus on my art and getting out of here as fast as possible. That is, until I met Sam.

* * *

DUN DUN DUN! Yeah, I know, cliched ending, I really suck at those (endings, I mean). But please REVIEW and tell me what you think!! It would mean the world to me and I'd love you forever and ever. And ever.


	2. The Pursuit of Happiness

Disclaimer: These characters are way too cute for little ol' me to create.

* * *

When I got to Susan's that Tuesday, I was surprised to see a pile of fruit on the table, which we had already done before. In fact, it was what we drew my first day of art lessons.

"What's with the fruit?" I asked Susan. "Didn't we already do this?"

She gave me an admonishing look. "But you never did this particular pile of fruit, did you?"

"No, I guess not," I laughed, understanding what she was getting at.

Susan winked at me. "Also, I bring out the fruit whenever a new student joins us, so as to not intimidate them. Something nice and basic."

So, _that's_ why we did fruit my first day. Then, I realized she meant a new student was actually joining that day. A more naive me would be excited by this news, but I soon learned not to get my hopes up. "Oh," I said, as I began setting up my pencils. "Cool."

"Way cool," Susan said, grinning at my nonchalance. "Samantha's only a year younger than you. Now you won't be the baby of the class anymore."

I stopped arranging my pencils and raised my eyebrows at her, wordlessly asking if she was kidding me. Susan knew about my, um, _difficulty_ with finding people who have the same interests as me and I doubt she'd joke about it. She laughed and just patted my shoulder as she walked off. I had to admit, I got sort of excited then. Finally, another kid was joining our class. And a chick, no less (at least, I hope, with a name like Samantha). Okay, so she was a year younger but that's no big deal. I started contemplating about what she'd be like, hoping she'd be cute - and not obnoxious, like the sophomore girls at my school - and into art as much as I am.

But as soon as I started drawing, all thoughts about this girl ceased as I became absorbed in my fruit and my paper. Susan is big about subtleties, which is why she glared at me when I asked her why we were doing fruit again. And I can see why. The more I looked at the fruit, the more I noticed differences from my first time drawing them, like the shadow the cloth made on the table and how the fruit was rearranged from the first time, essentially making for a completely different drawing. Who knew fruit could be so interesting? But that's the great thing about art: it can can make even the most mundane things look really cool.

When I'm drawing, not doodling or sketching, but actually drawing, I get really into because I want to capture every single detail of the real thing. At one point, I vaguely heard some unfamiliar voices and Joe, Susan's pet crow, squawking in the background and barely registered that the new girl had arrived but I didn't feel like breaking my concentration just to see what she looked like. I didn't even notice that Sam was sitting next to me until Susan called my name and I looked up, slightly irritated by the interruption.

But as soon as I looked up and saw Sam, I couldn't stop looking at her. It wasn't like she was super hot or anything. I mean, she was cute, which was a plus, but she was more interesting than attractive. First of all, she was completely decked out in black but not in a goth or poser way, since she wasn't wearing any weird make-up - or any make-up, actually - and her clothes looked like regular clothes, only black, as if she couldn't care less about what she was wearing. I liked that. Secondly, her hair was bright red like Carrot Top's and just as out of control but, unlike Carrot Top, she totally made it work. But the most interesting thing about her was her Docs, which I was surprised to see her wearing, since I never see girls in them. I had on a pair myself but mine weren't decorated with Wite-Out daisies, like Sam's were. I stopped myself from laughing out loud; I could tell we had a similar sense of humor.

I could also tell that she felt nervous and a bit out of place. Since I could totally relate to this, I winked at her, a sorry attempt to make her feel more comfortable. "Nice boots," I said, meaning it.

For some reason, Sam looked at me in utter disbelief, like no one had ever complimented her on her boots before. Which was probably true. I mean, Docs aren't the exactly the height of fashion. Then, I saw her glance down at my shoes and she realized that I wasn't making fun of her. She smiled coyly, muttering a thanks as a slight blush began to tint her cheeks. Did I say cute? I meant very cute. There was something about her shyness that was really endearing.

Fortunately, Susan stole her attention or I probably would have spent the rest of the class just staring. I managed to get back into my drawing soon enough, but my focus was punctured by thoughts of this new and very interesting girl and I found myself glancing her way every now and then. I noticed that she got really into her drawing as well, which, in tandem with our same taste in footwear, was a pretty good indication that we would get along pretty well. I really wanted to see her interpretation of the fruit but she was sort of hunched over her pad and I didn't want to get caught peeking. I had to wait until critique to see it.

Once I finally learned to keep my attention solely on my drawing, Sam distracted me again but this time, she had a little help from Joe. Suddenly, I heard her shriek and I myself was a little startled. I wildly looked around and saw a pained Sam clutching her head, casting Joe dirty looks, who was hovering nearby.

"Joseph!" Susan yelled. "Put down Sam's hair!"

Joe opened his beak and a couple of Sam's hairs fell out. Susan bent down to pick them up and walked over to Sam.

"Oh Sam," she said apologetically. "I'm so sorry. He's always been very attracted to bright, shiny things." She handed the hairs back to Sam, as if there was a way she could glue it back onto her head. Sam just stared at the hairs in her outstretched palm, looking extremely pissed off. It was actually pretty hilarious, as horrible as it sounds. Gertie said something that I didn't catch because I was too busy trying not to laugh. I bit my cheeks and forced myself to get back to drawing. I didn't want to make enemies with Sam her first day here, especially since I really wanted to get to know her better.

It seemed only five minutes later that Susan said, "All right. Windowsill." I looked at my incomplete drawing and cursed. Damn myself for not being able to concentrate and damn that Sam for distracting me. To be fair, Sam had no idea that I was somewhat stalkerishly watching her. But still.

Setting my pad on the windowsill, I finally got a glimpse of Sam's drawing and noticed two things:

a). she was a really good artist. And

b). she made the same rookie mistake everyone else makes their first day of art class. She drew what she knew, not what she saw.

But Sam went beyond that. She added some bananas and a pineapple, even though they weren't on the table. I bit back another laugh. Drawing what you see is a big deal for Susan and I really wondered how she would react to Sam's drawing.

When she got to her drawing, Susan just looked at it for a while and said, "Well, Sam. I see that you drew what you knew."

Sam looked sort of weirded out. "Um. I guess so."

"But I didn't tell you to draw what you know," Susan said. "I told you to draw what you see."

Her expression changed to downright confusion. I smiled. It was all too familiar.

"But I did. I did draw what I see. I mean, saw," she stuttered.

"Did you?" Susan smiled. "And do you see a pineapple on the table?"

Sam flushed. "Well. No but - "

"No," Susan cut her off. "There is no pineapple there. And this pear isn't there either."

"Wait a minute," Sam said a little defensively. "There are pears there. There are four pears on the table."

Susan started explaining the concept of "draw what you see" and Sam looked more and more confused with every word Susan said. She also got redder and redder. She looked like she just wanted the floor to swallow her up. I sympathized.

"Draw what you _see," _Susan said kindly. "Not what you know, Sam."

I was waiting for Susan to go off or something so I could tell Sam not to think too much about it, that everyone makes the same mistake in the beginning. And, yes, I also wanted an excuse to talk to her. But her ride came right then and, looking extremely relieved, Sam took off without another word.

I was a bit dismayed. Suddenly, I felt like Thursday couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

AN: So...did you like it? Hate it? Should I continue with this crappy story? I'd really love to hear (er, read?) what each and everyone of you has to say. Muchas gracias!


	3. The Right to Bear Arms

Disclaimer: Won't the real Meg Cabot please stand up, please stand up? (I'm not standing up...)

AN: I just wanted to take this time to thank everyone who reviewed. You guys get 10 billion karma points. To all those who're reading the story but just not reviewing, shame on you. If you want me to update, you need to let me know. Simple as that.

* * *

So, when Thursday finally came around, imagine my consternation when I found out that Sam wasn't coming.

After vainly waiting for twenty minutes, I casually asked Susan if Sam had canceled.

"I didn't receive any word about a cancellation," she said, her twinkling eyes seeing through my feigned casualness. "Maybe she's just running a little late."

But the false hope in her voice said it all. We both knew she wasn't coming.

At that point, I couldn't help but worry, hoping Sam wasn't lying in a ditch somewhere or something. Class passed by with me still thinking about her. I told myself to snap out of it. Here I was, mooning after this chick who I've known for only two hours and to whom I've literally said only two words. It was like she had me under some voodoo spell. Maybe that's why she wore black...

Great, I just killed half an hour contemplating whether or not Sam was a witch.

Fortunately - or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it - as I walked out the studio, happy that I finished my drawing this time, something happened that drove all thoughts of Sam out of my mind, at least temporarily. What might this incredible feat be, you ask? Well, I'm sure you'd stop thinking about some random girl when a Secret Service agent rushes up to you amidst all this chaos to inform you that your dad had just been saved from an assassination attempt.

--

As I walked toward this chick's hospital room, I honestly didn't know whether to thank her or curse her for saving my dad's life. I mean, I guess I would have been pissed off if my dad had been killed because deep down, I love him or whatever. But, regardless, he's still here and he's still telling me things like, "Fix your tie, David" or "Not now, David, I'm busy." You'd think almost being killed would give him a new outlook on life and make him more appreciative of his family. Apparently not.

Yeah, I know. I'm a horrible person.

Needless to say, I was a bit reluctant to go in when I got to the room, on account of the fact that I had no idea what to say. So I just stood at the doorway, hoping they wouldn't notice me until it was time to go.

But my mother has this sixth sense about me, which always rears its ugly head at the worst possible moment. Right when I got there, she turned and saw me standing in the doorway. She smiled at me, almost teasingly, as if she could sense my discomfort - which she probably could - and said, "Oh, there's David. May we introduce our son, David."

I threw my mom a glare and walked in. Only my glare was soon replaced with shock, as I stared at the girl in front of me. "Um," I said quite eloquently. "Hi."

"Um," she said, also astonished. "Yeah. Hi." She obviously didn't recognize me as the president's son in my Save Ferris T-shirt and disheveled hair.

Yeah, that's right. The girl who risked more than just a broken arm to save my dad's life was Sam from art class.

At least, I thought it was Sam. The girl standing before me had sleek, straight hair, was wearing make-up and looked uncomfortable in an outfit that, first of all, was not black and second of all, looked horribly trendy. Oh, and her shoes were as far from daisied-out Docs as you can get.

But then I thought, _No, it has to be her._ Because the chick who saved my dad's life is named Samantha Madison; it was too big of a coincidence. When I first heard the name, I didn't make the connection, although I did notice that they had the same name. And in my defense, it's not my fault I didn't know what she looked like, since they didn't show any pictures of her at the any of the press conferences that had wasted the last 24 hours of my life.

My mom looked at us curiously. "Do you two know one another already?"

"Yeah," I said, cracking the grin I was trying to hide. "Samantha is in my drawing class at Susan Boone's."

I was slowly starting to figure it out. Sam wasn't absent on Thursday because she had some emergency or something. She was absent because she was embarrassed about the whole pineapple thing. But she didn't want her parents to know, so she just hung around the area for two hours and hoped that when she got picked up, no one would know of her truancy. It all made sense now and it was all too much. So, she was the sensitive artist type. I tried not to laugh at the thought.

Right when I mentioned Susan Boone, Sam's eyes widened as if she just realized something bad. And then _I_ realized something: her parents still hadn't figured out that she'd skipped class. She glanced pleadingly at me, as if to ask - dare I say, beg - me not to say a word. The situation was just too funny.

"Oh, you have her at Susan Boone's? Isn't Susan _wonderful?_ David just loves her," my mom said as she grabbed my shoulder. "I'm just so glad David was late leaving the studio last night. Who knows what could have happened if he had walked out just as - "

She didn't finish the sentence. My mom could be so unnecessarily dramatic sometimes. Obviously, nothing would have happened, since Sam would have stopped it. Despite my somewhat ambivalent feelings about her saving my dad, I had to admire her bravery.

Sam's mom said something but I wasn't paying attention because I was too busy watching Sam - discreetly, I hoped - which is apparently all that I am able to do in her presence. I couldn't help but notice that even though she looked a bit out of her element, she still looked pretty hot. Well, a sort of generic hot, like the girl behind her, who could only be her sister and who was probably the one responsible for Sam's transformation. But I preferred Sam with her bushy hair and black clothes. I'd value uniqueness over conformity any day.

Sam was still giving me meaningful looks, as if she was trying to convey some unspoken message. I tried not to smile, I really did, but I just couldn't help it. She was going through all this trouble for a stupid pineapple. At one point during our visit, I noticed Sam was looking down and, out of the blue, she started blushing. I wondered what she was turning red for this time. Maybe she was thinking about the pineapple incident. Maybe it was just this whole situation. Whatever it was, it was probably hilarious.

Like I said, I'm a horrible person, finding humor in someone else's misery. Especially the misery of a girl who I might possibly be crushing on.

* * *

AN: Yeah, so I figured David probably had figured out his feelings for Sam when he started doing those secretive little smiles of his (God, he's just too cute. Why is he fictional? Why??).

Review. You all should know the drill by now. And for those ghost readers, I'm capitalizing it and adding a lot of exclamation marks and angry faces.


	4. Self Evident Truths

Disclaimer: Nah, but I wish I owned David. Er, I mean..."All-American Girl"...

AN: SORRY for the long wait, everyone!! I'd just been so swamped with all this college stuff and my job and other random crap. By the way, watch "Mamma Mia!" and "The Dark Knight" if you haven't already, they're fucking awesome. Heath Ledger, best joker ever. RIP, man, we'll never forget you.

-SNIFF-

Anyway. On to the story!

* * *

Sunday night, Sam and her family came over to dinner. I was all ready to greet the Madisons in my Sublime T-shirt but my mom frowned at the graphic and told me it wasn't appropriate dinner attire and that I had to change. But as excited as I was too see Sam again, I absolutely refused to wear yet another button-down shirt. And I had a feeling that the Madisions wouldn't really mind it all that much. So, I quickly donned a graphic-less band t-shirt and went downstairs.

When I had gotten to the living room, the Madisons and their housekeeper Theresa were already seated.

"Oh, David," my mom sighed when she saw me. "I thought I told you to change for dinner."

I noticed Sam, who straightened her hair again and was wearing a navy blue suit, eying me with a mixture of shock and jealousy on her face. I just grinned and took some cashew nuts from the bowl on the table. "I _did_ change for dinner," I said, as it was technically true.

My mom looked like she wanted to argue about it but a member of the kitchen staff came in then to inform us that dinner was ready. I was seated next to my mom, who sat right across from Sam, so I had a pretty good view of her. And I had to say, if it weren't for Sam, dinner would have been a rather boring affair for me.

As soon as she sat down and saw her salad, Sam looked like the saddest person in the world. Her reaction struck me funny. Who has a problem with salad? Then, I realized she just didn't like tomatoes, since she ate the lettuce around them. I saw my dad my dad frown at her - he has this thing about wasting food when 800 million people go to bed hungry every night. As if he's doing anything to help end the world hunger crisis. "You know, those tomatoes were imported all the way from Guatemala," he joked lamely. "If you don't eat them, there could be an international incident."

Sam smiled weakly and when he wasn't looking, she scooped the tomatoes onto the napkin on her lap. I almost choked on my own tomato and wondered if it was just tomatoes she had this inexplicable hatred for. Sure enough, when she thought no one was looking, she did the same thing with clams, peas, carrots, onions, scalloped potatoes, a piece of foccacia and, the grand finale, a huge piece of flounder stuffed with crabmeat. I snorted into my plate and marveled at how all that stuff could fit in that napkin and how no one noticed her wastefulness.

As if it couldn't get any better, my mom put the rose-shaped tomato garnish from the scalloped potatoes on Sam's plate and said, "A rose for a rose." Sam couldn't get out of this one; all eyes were on her. She gulped down the tomato and downed it with half her glass of iced tea. I wanted to do what her kid sister Rebecca did just then, which was pretend to clap at the amazing feat, but I didn't want Sam to take it the wrong way.

Then I saw Sam look down at her lap and curse quietly. Apparently her food had started to leak. She quickly excused herself and as she got up, I noticed that she had oh-so casually left the napkin balled up in her hand, as if she had forgotten it was there. I heard her ask one of the Secret Service agents where the nearest bathroom was. At that moment, I thought of a great idea that would not only get me to finally talk to her but also provide her with some alternative food, since she'd probably be starved for the rest of the night. I excused myself after waiting a little while and walked toward the bathroom, hoping beyond hope that Sam liked burgers. I didn't have to walk too far, as Sam had already started making her way back.

"Oh," I said, as if I wasn't expecting to run into her at all. "Hey."

"Hey," Sam said awkwardly, trying to edge past me.

But before she could take another step, I smiled at her and said, "So. You didn't flush the napkin, too, did you?"

Trying to act like she had no idea what I was talking about - but turning the reddest I had ever seen her - she said, "Napkin? What napkin?"

"The one you hid your entire meal in," I said, smirking. So, she was in the mood for jokes, eh? I tell _great_ jokes. "I hope you didn't try to flush it. The pipes in this building are pretty old. You could cause a massive flood, you know."

This was probably not true. But the expression on her face was well worth the lie.

"I didn't flush the napkin," she said quickly, nervously glancing at the Secret Service agent outside the dining hall. "I put it in the basket with the dirty hand towels. I just flushed the food." She looked really panicked. "But there was a lot of it. Do you really think it could clog the pipes?"

"I don't know," I said seriously, cocking an eyebrow. "That was one big piece of of flounder."

When Sam finally realized I was just kidding, she didn't look too happy about it. Which was expected. "That isn't very nice," she hissed. And, without another word, she walked around me and continued toward the dining hall.

I laughed. "Aw, come on," I said, catching up to her. "You have to admit, it was kind of funny. I mean, I really had you going there. You totally thought the pipes were going to explode."

"I did not," she said stubbornly. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Yeah, you did," I said, not backing down. "But I ought to have known you can't take a joke."

She suddenly stopped and turned around to look up at me. I noticed two things I hadn't before: she was really short, probably over a foot shorter than me (but then again, I'm pretty tall), and she had beautiful blue eyes. Azure. That was my new favorite color. Along with coppery red.

"What do you mean, I can't take a joke?" Sam asked incredulously. "How would you even know whether or not I can take a joke? You barely know me!"

I grinned. She was cute when she was agitated. "I know you're the sensitive artist type," I said simply.

"I am not," she said forcefully.

"Oh, yeah?" I challenged. "Then how come you didn't come back to the studio after the pineapple incident?"

Yeah, that's right she was speechless. I had her all figured out.

Sam looked like she was about to blow, so I quickly tried to calm her down. "I'm not disputing that you're a really good artist. Just that, you know, you're kind of a hothead." I nodded toward the dining room. "And a bit of a picky eater. You hungry?"

She looked at me like I was crazy. She opened her mouth haughtily to no doubt deny her hunger, but her stomach interrupted her, as if reprimanding her for the torture she was inflicting on it.

"I thought so," I said, probably embarrassing her greatly by not pretending to hear it. "Listen, I was going to go see if I could round up some real food. Want to come?"

"I," Sam said, looking utterly baffled. I guess it was a pretty weird situation, both of us getting up in the middle of dinner to look for something else to eat. But then again, she should be used to those by now. Weird situations, I mean. "I mean, we...we can't just _leave_. In the middle of _dinner_. At the _White House_."

"Why not?" I asked, shrugging. I do it all the time.

"Well, there are a lot of reasons why not," she said. She thought about it for a moment. "For one thing, it's rude. I mean, think how it would look. And, well...you just don't _do_ things like that."

I was unimpressed. Why doesn't she just take the damn offer? "You're hungry, aren't you?" I asked. I started backing down the hallway, knowing she was going to change her mind soon enough. "Come on. You know you want it."

I turned around and walked toward the elevators. Sure enough, Sam was by my side a couple of seconds later.

"So," I said, trying to making conversation, "what happened to the boots?"

"Boots? What boots?"

"The ones you were wearing the first time I met you. With the Wite-Out daisies on them."

She sighed. "My mom wouldn't let me wear those boots. She didn't think they were appropriate for dinner at the White House." She glanced at me surreptitiously. "None of my own clothes are appropriate for dinner at the White House. I had to get all new clothes." She tugged disgustedly at her suit. "Like this thing."

"How do you think I feel?" I asked, glad that finally someone understands what I go through on a daily basis. "I have to eat at the White House every single night."

"Yeah, but they obviously don't make you dress up."

"Only for state dinners, not private ones. But I have to dress up al the rest of the time."

"You weren't dressed up in drawing class," she contradicted.

I grinned at her stubbornness. It was hot. "Occasionally I get a reprieve."

We got in the elevator and I hit the down button, to go to the kitchen.

"So," I said. "Why did you skip?"

"Skip what?"

"You know. Drawing class, after the pineapple incident."

She looked annoyed again. "I thought you already had all that figured out. You said it was on account of my being a sensitive artist."

I couldn't believe she was giving up so easily. The door opened then and I, ever the gentleman, let Sam go out before me. "Yeah, but I want to hear your version of why."

She gave me a sour look before saying, "I don't think Susan Boone and I exactly see eye-to-eye on the issue of creative license."

"Really?" I asked, baffled. What was she talking about? Susan was the least stifling art teacher - no, person - I had ever met. "Are you sure? Because I think Susan's pretty cool about that kind of thing."

Sam seemed like she had something to say but she kept silent. And nothing more was said between the two of us.

* * *

AN: AHHH CLIFFY!! Okay, well not really, since you all know what's coming up anyway. Yeah, sorry to cut off in the middle like that. I felt like it was getting too long and this felt like a good place to stop. Also, I just felt like torturing you all. Mwahahaha. Ahem, what? I didn't say anything...

Review, please. Pretty please. With a half-naked David on top.

Oh, wow. I should stop.


	5. With Manly Firmness

Disclaimer: No.

AN: Sooo, I had to work extra hard to finish this chapter today, since today's my BIRFDAY (08/08/08 woot!) and I wanted to get lovely reviews to boost my ego. So, that's your birthday present for me, be nice to me and give me good reviews, even if this chapter is complete and utter crap. Capiche?

Another note, I noticed that I had a bunch of mistakes in my other chapters 'cause I'm too lazy to get a beta (plus, I assume updates would be a lot later too...) but you guys were too nice not to point them out (I really do love you all). But I proofread a little extra this time, so keep that in mind when you still stumble upon errors.

Oh and another, if you haven't noticed already, my chapter titles are arbitrary-ish snippets from The Constitution/Declaration of Independence. So yeah, in case you were wondering about this particular title, yes, it really is in the Declaration. XD

Wow, that emoticon is annoying.

* * *

At least until we got our food.

"Hey, Carl," I said to our chef when we got to the kitchen. "Got anything good to eat around here?"

Carl looked up from his chocolate mousse and gasped. "Samantha Madison!" he boomed excitedly. "The girl who saved the world! How you doin'?"

Suddenly, the rest of the kitchen staff looked up from whatever they were doing and hurried over to thank Sam. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. It was sort of funny.

Once the scuffle had ended, Carl looked at me as if there had been no interruptions and demanded to know what was wrong with the flounder. "That was real Maryland crab stuffed into it, you know. I bought it fresh this morning."

I wasn't about to tell him that Sam here, the savior of our universe, hated it so much that she flushed it down the toilet without even trying it. It would hurt his feelings. Also, Sam would probably murder me with her many loathsome glares.

"I think it was just too..." I trailed off, trying to find a diplomatic answer. "You know."

Nicely played, David. Nicely played.

I walked over to the fridge and pulled out some cokes. "You got any more of those hamburgers we had for lunch?"

I discreetly glanced over at Sam and saw her perk up at the word "hamburger." At this, I gave a manly cheer in my head. Carl saw it as well and he went crazy, rambling about how good his burgers are. "Don't move," he said to her. "This burger's gonna knock your socks off."

As I sat down on the stool next to Sam, I couldn't help but notice that she was wearing panty hose, not socks, but I guess "knock your panty hose off" would sound just a bit weird. _I sure would like to knock her panty house off, though, _my gutter-dwelling mind thought. I mentally punched myself in the face.

Sam looked absolutely enthralled with Carl's rapid burger-making skills and I tried to keep my focus on him as well, in attempts to suppress my adolescent male urges. But seriously, there was no way I could be more interested in our portly chef frying patties than this really cute girl, who was sitting _that_ close to me. She was so close, her hand was a mere inch from mine, taunting me. So close I could smell her. She smelled really good, like a combination of ginger and something girly-fruity. I inhaled deeply.

I had to admit, I was a bit weirded out by these ever-growing feelings about Sam. I mean, I still didn't even know her that well and I could totally tell that she wouldn't be into me anyway. But being there with her that night, I just felt really...content. The most I had ever felt in quite a while, actually. And I wanted to make it special, memorable somehow. But how would I do it without being too obvious?

I desperately racked my brains for an idea. I shifted my right leg in impatience and felt my Swiss Army knife, which I thought I had taken out, dig into my thigh. And that was when it hit me.

There's this tradition that Amy Carter started, where the first kid would carve their name on the windowsill of the formal living room. You know, the whole leaving-your-legacy-behind sort of thing. I figured I'd tweak tradition a bit and put Sam's name up there with ours. Besides, she did save the president's life, so she should be honored somehow, right?

And yeah, I wanted to impress her. After all, who _wouldn't _like their name immortalized on White House property?

"Bon Appetit, y'all," said Carl, breaking me out of my thoughts, as he set two plates in front of us, each with a huge burger and a pile of fries. Grabbing the plates, I got up and beckoned Sam to follow me.

"Where are we going?" she asked as we walked our way to the elevator.

"You'll see," I said, trying to be mysterious

Once we got to the living room, I realized how date-y the whole situation was looking. The living room was probably one of the most romantic spots in the white house, with cozy yet sophisticated furniture and these huge windows that had a great view of the brightly lit Washington Monument. I hoped she wasn't feeling uncomfortable or anything. Setting down the burgers, I asked her, "How's this?"

"Um," she said, looking around. "Fine."

I tried not to laugh at her seemingly indifferent expression. She still looked pretty weired out by the whole situation and I guess she wasn't about to be all "Gee Willikers, David, this is swell!"

But as soon as Sam took a bite out of her burger, her whole face just lit up. And then she basically attacked it. I had raised my burger halfway to my mouth before getting completely caught off-guard by her voraciousness. She ate more than half of it in just a minute. That was a lot of burger for a tiny girl. I was impressed.

"Better?" I asked her when she surfaced for air. She was still busy chewing so she gave me a thumbs-up sign with her cast hand. It was so cute.

"So," I said, pointing to her cast. "Does it hurt?"

She swallowed with what looked like great effort and said, "Not so much anymore."

I noticed that it was blank. "How come nobody's signed it?"

"I'm saving it," she said, looking down at it. "For German class."

"Oh sure," I said, smiling. I had been far too nice. It was time to go back to the teasing. "That'll be cool. So what are you going to go for? A sort of Hawaiian motif? Plenty of pineapples, I'm assuming."

She gave me that infamous sour look. "I think I'm going to go for a patriotic theme."

"Oh," I said, slightly surprised. I didn't really take Sam to be the patriotic type. I mean, she saved my dad and all that but I thought it was more because of her sense of righteousness than her undying allegiance for her country. But then I noticed how she has the same last name as James Madison and I couldn't help but think that was the reason for her patriotism. After all, it wasn't too unlikely and the whole knack for rescuing presidents - or at least some form of them - seemed to run in the family. It was then I realized that I could totally use the whole Madison shpeal as an excuse to put my master plan into action. So, I decided to give it a shot.

"Of course," I said, as if it were obvious. "What could be more fitting? You being a Madison, and all."

"What does that have to do with it?" she asked.

"James Madison," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Fourth president. He's a relation, right?"

"Oh. Him. Yeah. No I don't think so."

"Really?" I said. Damn. But I kept going with it. "Are you sure? Because you and his wife Dolley have a lot in common."

"Me and _Dolley Madison_?" she said, laughing. "Like what?"

"Well, she saved a president, too.

"Oh what," Sam said, still laughing. It was a nice laugh. "She gave old James the Heimlich, or something?"

"No," I said, smiling and explained to her how Dolley Madison saved Washington's portrait during the War of 1812.

"Whoa," she said, the artist in her sounding impressed. "Cool."

"You sure you aren't any relation?" I tried once more.

"Pretty sure," she said sadly, as if she wished otherwise.

Which was good enough for me. I quickly got up and walked toward the window. Moving aside the curtains, I called Sam over. "Come here and look at this."

She got up, looking curious. I showed her the names. She stared at them for a couple of seconds before saying, "What is this? The memorial first kids windowsill?" She sounded like she wanted to know what I was getting at. Which she would find out about two seconds later.

"Something like that," I said as I pulled out my knife and started carving.

When Sam realized what I was doing, she didn't sound too pleased about it. "Hey!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

"Come on," I said, grinning at her. "Who deserves it more than you? Not only are you possibly related to a president, but you saved the life of one, too." And with that, I continued working on my creation.

"David," I heard her say quietly. "This isn't necessary." I chose not to respond.

"Really," she insisted. "I mean, if you want to thank me for saving your dad, the burger is enough, believe me."

Please. It wasn't even about that. Although I was glad that she was so appreciative of the burger.

Once she finally realized I wasn't backing down, Sam said, "I suppose you think just because your dad is the president, you can't get in trouble for this."

"Not that much trouble," I said as I made out the _M_. "I mean, I'm still a minor after all."

And then I was done. I stood up to look at it properly and there it was. _Sam_. Right next to _David_.

"There," I said. I felt strangely giddy. "What do you think of that?"

She looked at her name for a couple of moments and then looked back at me. "I think you're insane."

"Oh," I said, folding up my knife and putting it back in my pocket.

That wasn't exactly the response I was looking for. Needless to say, I was a bit upset by her reaction. And I couldn't believe she had the audacity to call _me_ insane after all the shit she had pulled. So, I mentioned all this to her. "That really hurts, coming from a girl who draws pineapples where there are none, flushes crab-stuffed flounders down the toilet, and likes to throw herself at strange men with guns."

I instantly wished I could take it back, since she stared at me, stunned, for what felt like forever. Then she started to laugh and at that moment, it was the best sound I had ever heard in my entire life. So, I started to laugh, partly because I was incredibly relieved that I didn't blow whatever little chance I had with her anyway and partly because it _was_ pretty freaking hilarious.

Sam started to laugh so hard, she needed to clutch on the windowsill for support. She looked so beautiful. I had to stop laughing then, since it was too overwhelming, as gay as that sounds. But it was true. I wanted to keep her laughing like that forever. And I wanted to kiss her. I really, really wanted to kiss her.

And who knows, I might have done it too, if a Secret Service agent hadn't opened the door right then to tell me that my dad was looking for me. The guilty look on Sam's face probably matched mine but judging from her glance at the empty plates, it was for an entirely different reason. As we walked back to the dining room, I both thanked and cursed my dad for his horrible timing that had saved me from probably making the hugest mistake of my life.

Or so it felt then.

* * *

AN: Oooohhh, the plot thickens! Can't think of anything else to say. Haha, David's a perv. A cute one though...

So yeah, feedback, please. Also, if you have constructive criticism, can you save it for tomorrow (what, you didn't think I was being serious about being nice to me)?

Okay, 2AM, I need some sleep. This is how I will kill myself.


	6. Assent to Laws

Disclaimer: Do I support McCain-Palin?

AN: I'm so sorry for taking this long to update, the last couple of weeks had been absolutely INSANE for me. But here's the next chappie, which has a couple of my own dialogue touches as well. I hope you all like it. And I apologize if I have offended/turned off anyone with my political remark. It's just the nature of this story makes it hard not to, hehe. And in my defense, I live in the D.C. metropolitan area - we're all super liberal :P

But feel free to rebut. Boy do I love nonsensical arguing: "Why wouldn't Palin make a good VP? Because she's evil and because I said so. Bam."

Thanks for putting up with me.

* * *

During a rather awkward farewell Sunday night, I nonchalantly asked Sam if I would see her at art class on Tuesday. "Yeah, I guess," was her reply. But there was no mistaking the slightly resentful tone in her voice, so I tried really hard not to get my hopes up too much. Unsurprisingly, that didn't work out so well. But it was okay, since she ended up coming. But I bet the minute Sam stepped out of the car, she instantly regretted her decision since there were about 12 billion reporters out there waiting for her.

Looking out the window when I arrived at the studio, which was a little before Sam did, I stupidly thought the reporters were there for me, even though the press hadn't been bothering me lately. But it was still surprising that not a single asshole reporter came up to me when I got out of the car, not that I was complaining. It occurred to me then that they weren't there for me at all but for Sam, the "Emblem of American Bravery" or whatever they were calling her. Realizing the same thing I had, John, my "bodyguard," thoughtfully called for police backup, since the reporters would cause enormous chaos once had Sam arrived. Sure enough, there this massive explosion of shouts and cameras once Sam's car had pulled up by the curb. Craning my neck, I tried looking for her but the reporters surrounded her car so fast, I didn't even see her get out. But then they stared coming - thundering - toward us, so all I could think about then was running for my life.

Just moments after we got into the building, so did Sam and Teresa, which was a pretty impressive feat; I expected it to take them at least five minutes to escape from the crowd. They both looked shocked and breathless. Teresa was also muttering angrily in Spanish and John went over to calm her down, assuring her that he had already called for backup. I made eye contact with Sam, who still looked pretty freaked out. But also hot, in all her flushed and disheveled glory.

I grinned at her. "Hey."

Sam just stared at me for a couple of seconds and then said, "Doesn't all that _bother_ you?" She pointed to the door, indicating the press. "I mean, that's just scary, and you're _smiling_?"

"You think the _press_ is scary?" I asked her incredulously. I started laughing. "Aren't you the girl who jumped on the back of a crazy man who was holding a _gun_?"

Sam just rolled her eyes. "That wasn't scary," she said. "It was just what I had to do. You'd have done it, if you'd been there."

"I wonder," I said musingly. The sad thing was, I actually did.

Sam looked at me questioningly but before either of us could say anything else, the door opened and the shouts that echoed in the stairwell completely drowned out any other sound. John ushered us into the studio.

"So," I said, as we started setting up. "What's it going to be today? Pineapple again? Or are you going to try for something a little more seasonal? Squash, perhaps?"

"Would you shut up already about the pineapple thing?" she hissed.

"Oh, sorry," I said, grinning. Boy do I love getting under her skin. "I forgot about you being a sensitive artist and all."

She glared at me. "Just because I'm not willing to have my creative impulses stamped out by some art dictator doesn't mean I am overly sensitive."

I raised my eyebrows at her. I understood her being a little upset during the whole pineapple incident but I thought she was being pretty irrational now. I mean, art dictator? And then the thing she said - or, rather, implied - the other day about Susan allowing no creative license. "What are you talking about?"

"Susan Boone," she said, casting a glance in her direction. "This whole draw-what-you-see thing. I mean, it's bogus."

"Bogus?" I repeated. I started to get a little defensive. Where did she come off calling Susan bogus? "How is it bogus?"

"Because where would the art world be," she said, "if Picasso only drew what he saw?"

I had to admit, my esteem of Sam had sort of lessened then when she started spouting the same misinformed self-expressionism crap that seemed to be embedded in the minds of every young artist I met. Well, I had news for her about Picasso. "Picasso did only draw what he saw," I told her. "For years and years. It was only after he'd mastered the ability to draw whatever he was looking at with absolute precision that Picasso began experimenting with perceptions of line and space."

She blinked at me. "What?"

I resisted the urge to sigh and explained to her how you're supposed to learn the rules first before changing them. "That's what Susan is trying to teach us," I said. "She just wants you to draw what you see first before you move on to cubism, or pineapple-ism, or whatever-ism it is you choose eventually to espouse."

Sam blinked again. She looked pretty taken aback, like everything she had ever been told turned out to be a complete lie. Which it was. But before anything else was said between us, Susan clapped her hands. "Okay, class," she said. "As I'm sure all of you know by now, there was some excitement last week after class, maybe a little more excitement for some of us than others." She smiled at Sam. "But we're all here now and thankfully unscathed...well for the most part. So let's get back to work, shall we?"

As she explained today's lesson, which was to draw or paint an egg on white silk, I noticed that the way the egg and silk was positioned, with the shadows and the lighting, made it so that there was no white to be found at all. I thought it was really cool. Eager to start challenge, I started on my painting immediately after Susan finished talking, quickly losing myself in paint and canvas.

A couple of minutes into the lesson, I was reluctantly brought back into reality by Sam's voice. I looked out of the corner of my eye to see what was going on and saw Susan standing next to her.

"No you don't," Susan said. She smiled and started to walk away.

"Wait," Sam said. "How am I supposed to draw a white egg sitting on a white sheet when I don't have a white pencil?"

I stifled a grin. So she still didn't really get it.

I vaguely heard Susan giving Sam clues as to what she was looking for. Sam, as far as I could tell without looking directly at her, looked at the egg pretty hard in attempts to make sense of anything Susan said to her. And suddenly, she let out a small gasp of realization and started sketching. I smiled, really glad that she finally got it, and then reabsorbed myself in my own painting.

--

I finished my painting with fifteen minutes to spare. Leaning back to get a good look at it, I thought I did a pretty good job with it. I looked around to see how everyone else was doing. Sam was still working on hers but she was almost done. From what I could see, she drew the egg perfectly.

Suddenly, Joe the bird swooped down out of nowhere and yanked out some of Sam's hairs, just like last time. And just like last time, Sam screamed as if the sky was falling. Only this time, now that I actually _saw_ it happen, it was ten times funnier. Completely disregarding any thoughts to control myself, I started cracking up.

"Joseph!" Susan yelled, clapping her hands. "Bad bird! Bard bird!"

The bird flew to the top of his cage and dropped Sam's hairs. "Pretty bird!"

"You are _not_ a pretty bird," Susan scolded. "You're a very _bad_ bird." The way she said that made me laugh even harder.

Susan turned to Sam. "Oh, Samantha, I am so sorry. Are you alright?"

Sam, who had been staring murderously at Joe, glanced at Susan and then touched her head with this expression like she couldn't believe this was happening to her again. It was just so freaking hilarious. At that point, I was laughing so hard, I thought I'd fall off my bench.

I noticed Sam giving me a cold look and I tried really hard to stop laughing but no avail. "I'm sorry," I pleaded. "I swear I'm sorry! But if you could have seen your face when that bird landed on you..."

With that, I went into another fit of laughter. The murderous stare Sam was giving Joe was now aimed at me. "Come on," I tried to say coherently. "You gotta admit. That was funny."

She was still glaring at me, but I noticed her mouth was twisting into one of those "yeah-it's-funny-but-I-won't-give-you-that-satisfaction" grins. Suddenly, she turned away from me to look at something over her shoulder. I followed her gaze and saw Susan hovering over Sam to look at her drawing. "There," Susan said. "You've got it. I knew you would." Susan then patted her on the head and walked off. Sam was staring at her drawing, looking a little surprised but also a little pleased with herself.

"Congrats," I said, meaning it.

She jumped a little at my voice and looked at me for a couple of seconds. Then she cast her eyes down, looking a little embarrassed. "Look, David. I'm sorry for acting like such a smartass earlier. I feel really stupid now and - "

"Hey, it's no big deal," I said. "Most people don't know that about Picasso either."

"Yeah, well," she said. "Thanks for enlightening me. That bit of information really helped me..._see_." She grinned.

I grinned back. "You're welcome."

We sort of just stared at each other for a couple of seconds, grinning. I felt like I could stare at her all day. But Sam started getting all awkward and she stopped grinning and looked away quickly, blushing a little. I could feel my grin turn into a little smirk at the knowledge that I made her blush.

"So," I said, trying to find something to say. I glanced at her shoes, which were black Chucks. "You're not wearing your boots today."

She looked at my Vans and then my blink-182 t-shirt. "You're not either. Nor a ska band shirt."

"You know what ska is?" I asked her, surprised. _No one_ knows what ska is.

She rolled her eyes. "It's only the best type of music out there. As a matter of fact, Save Ferris and Reel Big Fish are among my favorite bands."

I grew more and more amazed with the fact that not only did she like the same bands as I do but she even remembered the band T-shirts I had worn in her presence. I was just about to ask her what else she liked when it was time for critique. Sam eagerly stood up with her drawing and walked toward the window sill, knowing she got it right this time. I followed her sort of dazedly, thinking there was no way this girl could be any more perfect for me.

* * *

AN: Don't kill me, but I think the next chapter will be up in another month, since I really, really need to be in SAT mode until Oct. 4. But who knows, if I get nice enough reviews, maybe it'll be up a lot earlier...

Just putting that out there...


	7. The Laws of Nature

Disclaimer: Anything in this story that doesn't seem as though it would be under my ownership isn't.

AN: Erm, belated Merry Christmas/happy holidays everybody! I hope everybody is enjoying a nice break... -smiles sweetly while trying to ignore the glares-

Alright, so you all probably hate me now. I know I had said a month from September, but the last couple of months have be _soo_ stressful for me, what with school work and extracurrics and, on top of all that, college freaking applications. As much as I wanted to write, I wasn't able to put it high amongst my list of priorities. Okay, lame excuse, I know. This is why I should strictly deal with one-shots.

Again, I'm really sorry if some of you thought this was/going to become a dead story. I promise to update more regularly now and in quicker intervals. If I don't, then I'll eat my knee. Really. Okay, not really, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

Anyway, why are you still reading this? On with the chappie!

* * *

Since the revelation that Sam was into the same bands as me - which basically means that she cannot be any more perfect - I simply could not stop thinking about her. Okay, I couldn't stop thinking about her since I had met her, but it was different this time. This time, I was seriously considering telling her how I feel and I had been going back and forth with myself for the last 24 hours, deliberating if it was the right time or not. My conversations with myself essentially proceeded in this manner:

_Dude, I really want to ask her out. _

**_But dude, I really don't think I know her well enough to ask her out. She might take it the wrong way. Plus, we're just starting to get to know each other. Why mess it up?  
_**

_But...I really want to ask her out. _

**_It's too early. _**

_No, it's not _

**_Yes, it is. _**

No, _it's not. _

_**Dude, stop being retarded and think about it logically. IT. IS. TOO. EARLY. **  
_

_...noitsnot. _

I was having said conversation in my head during lunch the next day when my friend Jay asked if I was okay. I looked up from my pizza to see him peering at me over his bean-and-cheese burrito.

"Yeah," I said, slightly surprised by his concerned tone. "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno, man," he said, his eyes boring into mine in a slightly uncomfortable manner. "You have just been so out of it today."

"Oh," I replied, making a mental note to seem less dazed when I'm having internal conversations. "Well..."

"Dude, don't tell me, I know that look," Jay said with glee. "Who is she? Did she touch your penis?"

"What?" I exclaimed. Sometimes, I honestly wonder if Jay suffers from some kind of Tourette's that makes him blurt out the most socially awkward things. "No! She's just...okay, you know the girl who saved my dad's life?"

"You mean Samantha Madison?" he grinned appreciatively. "I'd tap that."

I ignored his comment, mainly because he just can't help it. Anyone else, however, would be the receiving end of my fist. No joke. "Yeah, well. I've been kinda getting to know her the past couple of days and...I dunno...I don't know her all that well, but there's just something about her..."

"Then get to it, man," Jay said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, the thing here, Jay," I said, "is that we have kinda a good thing already and I really don't want to ruin it. I, unlike you, care about something other than getting pussy."

"Hey," he said, pointing a finger at me. "I resent that." Even though he's told me on countless occasions that all he wants to do in life is play bass and get laid by a different chick every night without contracting a single STD ever. Yeah, try telling that to his super-conservative Indian parents, who want him to go into computer science and get married to a proper Hindu girl. Which is one of the reasons why Jay is one of the few people that get me and why I consider him as my only real friend at Horizon - our dreams for our future are _vastly_ different from our parents'.

"Anyway," I continued. "I really don't know enough about her to ask her out. Like, what if she already has a boyfriend? I'll look like a complete jackass then."

"Yeah, but - " Jay started but I cut him off with a new thought.

"But what if she doesn't?" I wondered. It was back to circular conversations with myself. "What if she's into me as much as I'm into her? I mean, judging by the way she blushes around me sometimes, it's totally possible. In fact, I think it's damn right probable. Yeah, I think I should just do it. When I see her tomorrow, I'm just gonna go right ahead and say it. Just take the plunge, right?"

"If you - "

"But, wait," I said, having second thoughts. Yet again. "I can't just go up to her and be like, 'Sam, I really like you. You wanna go out sometime?' 'Cause she's not that type of girl. I need to work up to it, gradually tell her somehow. But how would I do it...?"

I looked up at Jay for some thoughts. He just gave me this dumbfounded look, shook his head and said, "Man, I'm betting you haven't even held hands yet and she's already got you whipped."

I sighed. Boy did I know it.

--

So this is Phase 1 of Operation Ask Sam Out:

"Like it?" I asked Sam when she arrived at art class on Thursday and saw the highlighter and Wite-out daisy helmet on her bench. She just stared at it for a while, so I started to worry that she didn't like it and decided an explanation was in order. "I figured it was exactly what a girl like you needed. You know, as long as you were continually getting assaulted by crows and armed assassins."

I searched her face for any signs of appreciation but she continued to look at the helmet with this slightly shocked expression. Suddenly, she put it on, making sure all her hair was covered, and grinned up at me. She looked so freaking cute, I just wanted to grab her and hold her and never let go. Luckily, I was able to control myself, though.

"Thanks," she said, beaming. "It's perfect!"

"I'm glad you like it," I said, laughing with relief. "Now, let's just hope it has the effect I was aiming for."

Sure enough, when Joe perched himself on Sam's shoulder sometime during the middle of our lesson, the confused bird just pecked stupidly at the helmet and getting no hair for his efforts. I chuckled when Joe flew away, sqwaking angrily. Sam looked at me when she heard me laugh and just gave me the sweetest smile. I grinned back, my heart swelling with the knowledge that I made her smile like that. It was a good moment for me, it really was.

Almost as good a moment as I experienced later...

"Hey David," Sam whispered to me as we were getting ready for critique. I turned to look at her and she proceeded to tell me the thirteen best words she had said to me thus far. "Do you want to go with me to this party on Saturday night?"

I looked at her stupidly, not quite believing what she had just said. She stared back, with an apprehensive expression, and I realized that I hadn't given her a response. So I smiled and played it cool by saying, "Sure. Why not?"

But in my head, I was doing cartwheels in a field of daisies and singing "I'm A Believer" with a big grin on my face.

Operation Ask Sam Out: terminated.

* * *

AN: Sorry if it's a little too short, I just wanted to upload it and get it done with. Hope you all liked it!!

Brownie points for whoever can tell me who I based the character "Jay" off of. I even stole one of his quotes, lol.


	8. Laying a Foundation

AN: Hey, hey my peeps. I updated within, like, three weeks!! If that's not progress, I don't know what it.

So, two things: 1) Thanks for the awesome reviews. You all never fail to rock and 2) GASP! I can't believe no one figured out who Jay was based on. Well, I guess the hint was a little too subtle - it wasn't a real prominent quote from the movie I got it from - but...I dunno, I'd just really like it if someone could guess it, lol. So, I won't tell you just yet and just leave you with this: he's a character from a movie, same ethnicity, same personality. C'mon, how many brown actors are out there in Hollywood?

Anywhoo...let's drool over some more David. By the way, I'm curious as to how you all imagine him in your heads (as I'm sure many of you do). I myself see a younger version of Adam Brody. Yum.

* * *

Here's the thing: I have never actually gone on a real date before. Well, I mean, _technically _I guess I have. I dated Jessica, my first and, thus far, only girlfriend, in the eighth grade for about seven months but the thing was...we knew each other since the third grade. We were already so comfortable with each other, I really never went through all the apprehension that came with the first date. With Sam, though, I was still treading on unfamiliar territory and by Saturday afternoon, I was kind of freaking out.

So, there I was, pacing about in my room, thinking about the significance and intent of the date. I still wasn't entirely sure if Sam liked me back. For all I knew, she probably just invited me because all her friends wanted to meet the president's son or something. Yeah, I realize that sounds sort of cocky, but it's a legit concern; I've encountered some quite intense fangirls over the past ten months. But I knew Sam wouldn't, well, use me like that. Maybe she just wanted a buddy around in case the party really wasn't her scene; she had, after all, basically told me that she had been coerced into going. But then, I thought about those looks she gives me sometimes, and the way she blushes other times...and I just really hoped my doubts were all for naught.

I had suggested that we eat somewhere before the party, just so we could have some time alone to, um, get to know each other a little better, but I had no clue where I should take her. Just in case, I quickly made reservations at some swanky restaurants before shaving, taking a shower, and then pulling my hair out over what I should wear. No way was I going the button-down-shirt-and-khaki route and I was under the impression that this was definitely not that type of party at all. So, I finally opted for a black cashmere sweater and the nicest denim I owned and headed out the door at six-thirty.

"First Date" by blink-182 was on the mix CD that played on the way to her place. It did nothing to ease my nerves.

I arrived at Sam's house promptly at seven. For some reason, as I got out of the car and admired the architecture of the Victorian house in front of me, I was suddenly equipped with a little more confidence. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the door and rang the door bell. So far, things were going well.

Much to my relief, it was Sam who opened the door. She looked up at me with pleading eyes and said, "Please forgive them, for they do not know what to do."

I furrowed my eyebrows at her unexpected greeting and followed her in cautiously.

"Oh." When I saw it was just her parents, beaming brightly with camera in hand, I smiled. "Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Madison."

"Hello David," said Sam's mom, slightly breathlessly.

"How have you been, son?" Sam's dad asked, sharing identical grins with his wife.

"Not too bad, sir," I replied as smoothly as I could. "How about yourselves?"

"Oh, we've been wonderful," said Mrs. Madison excitedly. "We're just so thrilled Samantha has set her sights on such a fine, intelligent, good-natured boy like - "

"Mom!" Sam hissed, her face red with mortification. Smirking, I tried to make eye contact with her but she pointedly wouldn't look at me.

"Oops," her mom said. "Sorry, I'll stop talking, dear. Quickly, before you go, let's just take a couple of shots for the family album. It'll only take a minute."

Sam uncomfortably edged a little closer to me, and Mr. Madison started clicking away as Mrs. Madison dictated the three of us.

"Richard, make sure you zoom in enough and...Sam, you could smile a bit, you know, and move in a bit closer. There, that's it. Now, David, if you could put your arm around Sam's shoulders..." - trying to act less flustered then I really was, I gingerly placed my left hand on her left shoulder - "There, good. Richard, for God's sake, try not to put your thumb in front of the lens. It's a digital camera, you can _see_ when you're obscuring - "

At that point, the family dog ran into the room, came up to me, and without hesitation, buried his nose in my junk. I jumped back a little in surprise.

"Manet, NO!" Sam shouted as she attempted to pull the huge dog away. Keeping a surprisingly strong hold on his collar, she started apologizing, looking up at me for the second time that evening.

"That's okay," I said, smiling a bit and patting the dog on the head. "I like dogs."

I was then reintroduced to Lucy, who really looked ready to party. I made an automatic comparison as I glanced at Sam, who looked equally as pretty in her more conservative attire, and felt incredibly relieved that she was my date.

"Oh, David, it's you," Lucy said slightly cavalierly. "I thought it might be my boyfriend, Jack. You'll meet Jack, of course, at the party. I think you two will really get along. Jack is an artist, too." I was slightly skeptical about the "artistic" merits of her boyfriend, but I smiled and nodded politely anyway.

The most interesting greeting that I got from a member of the Madison family was from Sam's little sister, Rebecca. She came into the room, took one look at us and said, "Oh, yes. Definite frisson" and then walked away. I really did not know what to make of that.

As we walked outside, I asked Sam what Rebecca meant. She just sort of laughed it off and said, "I don't know. It must be something she picked up at school."

I frowned, getting the feeling that Sam knew exactly what Rebecca was talking about, but she didn't want to tell me. "I go to the same school as she does, and I never heard of it before."

Sam quickly looked around, obviously trying to change the subject, and her eyes stopped at the car. "Oh my God," she squealed. "I _love_ your car!"

I stared at her a little, taken aback by her rather uncharacteristic exclamation, and said, "Um, it's not mine. It belongs to the secret service."

"Oh," she said. There was a moment of awkward silence. Then, she sort of pursed her lips and looked at me sheepishly, saying, "My sister told me guys like it when you get excited about their car."

"Really?" I said. That would explain it. "Well, she looks like someone who would know."

Suddenly, camera flashes started going off and some reporter started yelling, "Samantha! David! Over here!" I shielded my eyes, waiting for one of the secret service men to kick his ass. Sure enough, Ralph grabbed the camera and smashed it against the tree. I do love my boys.

In the car, John asked if we were all set.

"I'm all set," I replied, glancing at Sam. I started to feel a little excited. "You all set?"

"Um, yes."

"We're all set," I shot back at John. And then we were off.

For a while, we didn't say anything. I stole furtive glances at Sam, who still looked at unease. I didn't know whether or not to be worried. For one thing, this had been the most uncomfortable she has been with me since I've known her and a part of me couldn't help but think that she doesn't really want to be on the date. On the other hand, though, I assumed that this was her first date, judging by the fact that she sought her sister's advice, and that she was just as, if not more, nervous as I was. I wanted to take her hand in a comforting gesture, but I was worried it might have the completely opposite effect.

In an attempt to break the silence, I was going to ask her where we should eat, when she spoke first. "Um, sorry about my parents."

"Oh," I said, laughing. "No problem. So where to? What do you feel like eating?"

She furrowed her brow, as if she wasn't sure of what she should say, so I sort of rambled about the places I made reservations at, realizing how dumb I was being with each word that I said. Of course Sam wouldn't want to eat at a place that requires prior booking. She would just flush the food down the toilet. So I suggested Luigi's, which is apparently a popular pizza joint, but for some reason, that alarmed her even more. It was when I hastily suggested burgers that she visibly calmed.

"That sounds good," she said quickly. I smiled at her, realizing a burger was what she wanted all along, and said, "Burgers it is, then. John, make it Jake's. And could we have a little music, please?"

No Doubt's "Don't Speak," one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands, started to fill the car. Suddenly, Sam sat up a lot more rigidly in her seat.

"You okay?" I asked her after about a minute, when she showed no signs of relaxing.

"What?" she said, avoiding my gaze, pink tinting her cheeks. "Oh, I'm - I'm fine. I just really love this song."

I grinned at this bit of information. "Yeah, I do, too."

She gave a small, fleeting smile my way before abruptly turning away and looking out the window. I was left to stare at the back of her head, utterly confused. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

AN: It's quite fitting, actually, that as I'm finishing up this chappie, I'm also watching the pre-inaugural concert at the National Mall on TV. Oh, how it sucks to live so near D.C. but be so far away from all the action. Sigh.

So, just a heads up, the next chapter WON'T detail the unfortunate events of party - but rather the chapter after that - so don't worry your pretty little heads about it yet. Hm, so what will I write for the next chapter, I wonder...?

As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for readin'!


	9. Two Witnesses to the Same Overt Act

AN: Yeah, so I think it's pretty much established that I'm completely and utterly unreliable. It's just...well, basically, I'm just finding it more and more difficult to continue this story (for soo many reasons, I don't even know where to start) and I'm actually seeing it as sort of a burden now - I know, how horrible of me! Who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll start loving this story again, but as of now, I'm just kind of, frankly speaking, rushing to finish it so I don't have to worry about it anymore. But that doesn't mean I know how soon I'll be able to update, as you all should be fully aware by now, lol. I understand that this is really unfair to everyone and I'm deeply sorry about that, but hopefully whatever literary merit you've seen in this story won't falter and you'll be able to enjoy it like you have been.

P.S. Shout out to mzventi, who got that I based Jay on Kumar from "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle." Yayyy! If you haven't seen it (gasp!), do so! It's high-larious. Geddit, geddit? Oh, just go see it.

Oh, and another thing: I just want you all to know that I actually enjoyed writing this particular chapter, since I got to write a lot of my own dialogue, and I hope you all enjoy it too. Thanks!

* * *

Luckily, it was about a ten minute drive to Foggy Bottom from Cleveland Park, since I don't think I would have been able to take another minute of that torturous awkward silence. Seriously, it was that bad. Throughout the entire car ride, I tried to convince myself that everything will be much better once we've both had some burgers in us while battling with the notion that I had just about ruined any chances I've had with Sam. But as I walked into Jake's, thinking that the night was a complete bust, a tiny glimmer of hope appeared in the form of a half-lit neon sign of beefy burger.

Walking into Jake's for presumably the first time, Sam looked around curiously, taking in the retro decor, low lamps and quiet patrons. She smiled with approval as we took our seats. "No paparazzi? No crazy fans? I think I can get used to this."

I laughed, partly in concurrence and partly with relief that she was finally talking. "Yeah, Jake's a really nice place if you want to just relax and forgot who you are for a bit."

At that point, the waitress came by to take our order. "Um," said Sam, looking over the menu. Then her eyes brightened. "I'll have The Plain. Regular, please. Oh, and a coke with little ice."

I chucked softly. Trust Sam to order the burger with the least fibrous content. Not bothering to open the menu, I ordered my usual (The Monster, which has, like, ten different meats in it. It's excellent), large fries for us to share and a Dr. Pepper.

As the waitress picked up our menus and walked off, I desperately searched my head for something to say, wanting greatly to avoid a repeat of the scene in the car. I grinned slowly, thinking of the perfect story that would break the ice.

"So guess what we found after a White House tour a couple of days ago?" I asked Sam.

"Um," she said, looking a little surprised by the arbitrary question. "I don't know. What?"

"A wig."

Sam snorted. "What?"

"Yeah," I said, grinning. "A blue wig. I like to imagine it belonged to a fussy elderly woman with a handcrafted mahogany cane and a really strong penchant for prune juice."

"Let me guess," said Sam, smirking. "You found it in the Blue Room?"

"No," I said with a laugh. "We found it in the Green Room."

Sam laughed louder at this. "So, did someone ever come back to claim it?"

The waitress came by with our drinks. "Nah, people normally don't," I said, taking a sip of my coke. "We keep a lost-and-found box but we discard things after a couple of months or give them away to charity - well, depending on what it is. Corduroy pants, yes. Crusty retainers, hell no."

"Oh my God!" Sam laughed, her mouth dropping. "People don't actually leave retainers and - and _pants _at the White House on a regular basis, do they?"

"They do," I said, giddily noting how smoothly the conversation was flowing. "People leave a ton of crazy stuff all the time. Mostly it's just jackets and wallets - wallets people tend to reclaim - but a lot of times it's just really random things like retainers and glasses. The weirdest thing was probably the wig, or maybe the pants, since I just get a real kick out of contemplating what the owner of the pants must have been _doing _to lose them."

Sam laughed like it was the funniest thing she's ever heard, and I could tell she wasn't faking it just to make me happy. I grinned. By the time the waitress came by with our burgers, all the discomfort from earlier had dissolved and it was awesome.

Sam eyed her burger with interest as it was set in front of her and took a tentative bite, as if she were to spit it out if it wasn't up to her precise standards. Apparently it was, as she took another, more enthusiastic bite right after.

I grinned at her. "Good?"

"Mhm," she responded thickly.

"Good," I said before starting on my own burger. We chewed in content silence for a while. I looked around the restaurant. It wasn't too crowded; most people just ordered to go. Sam and I were the only teenagers. There were a couple of yuppies scattered here and there, John and Ralph sat awkwardly a few seats away from us, and right behind Sam sat a couple and their son. My eyes settled on the kid, who looked to be about three or four. He drew ketchup faces on his burger and exclaiming, "Look, I make happy face!" to his parents, who played along, drawing faces on their patties as well. I was suddenly rushed back ten years ago, to the good ol' days when my parents actually gave a shit about my life.

"I remember when I was a kid," I said, smiling at the memory. For some reason, I was unable to look up from my burger, but I could feel Sam lift her gaze from hers. "My parents would make me set the table, right? And each time they'd ask me to, as a joke I'd always set one place with the oversized fork and spoon that, you know, are meant to serve the salad - "

"Aw," Sam gushed. "That's so cute."

"Yeahhh," I said, trying to modestly draw the word out. Even though it was pretty damn cute. "And they'd always laugh and go along with it, even though I did it practically every night. I kind of miss those days, ya know, when you were their entire world."

"Can't say that I know what you mean," Sam said sourly. I looked up and raised an eyebrow. With a sigh, she continued about how being the middle child, she was used to being shunted aside and how she had to really work for attention from her parents. Then she told me the cutest story of when she was eight and she tried to flush her dad's credit cards down the toilet in protest for making the family move to Morocco.

"Wow, Sam," I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. "Even then, you were sticking it to the man. You're such a rebel."

"What?" she said, grinning shyly. "It was totally unfair. I had to leave all my friends behind to leave to this country where I had _no idea_ what anyone was saying and people thought I was rude because I didn't know how to talk to them. Oh, and I embarrassed myself on a daily basis, for not knowing the words for things like 'bathroom.'" She cringed at the memory. "It was probably the loneliest and most depressed I have ever felt in my life. All I wanted was to go back home."

Hearing this, I straightened up, for it was exactly how I felt moving from Houston to D.C. So, I told Sam everything. How much I resented the transition to Horizon, where every day is just a battle to see who got the highest grade on the last chemistry test or who wrote the most compact Java program. Where you're always hassled to do better and you never feel like you're good enough. Where kids who aren't into the sciences, like me and Jay, are looked down upon with sickening pity.

Her eyes bore into mine as she said, "I know exactly what you mean," and explained how everything is all about athletics at Adam's Prep and everyone looks at her weirdly when she suggests more emphasis on the arts. "But I guess I've always known what it's like to be the outsider, since I had a lisp when I was younger and I had to go to speech and hearing classes and everyone thought I was Sped and made fun of me for it."

"What the hell?" I exclaimed. The notion that anyone could be so cruel, particularly to Sam, really pissed me off.

"Yeah, it was pretty messed up," Sam said bitterly. "And you wanna know the best part? They haven't changed one bit."

We talked a little bit longer about the woes of high school and she started to tell me about the real reason why she's taking lessons with Susan Boone. At one point in the conversation, my knee accidentally brushed up against hers, and, as if I were shocked, I jerked it away, apologizing. Sam appeared not to have really noticed, as she carried on with her story without break, but I, on the other hand, could not stop fixating on that brief moment of contact. Here we were, pouring our souls and telling each other things we've barely told other people and _really_ connecting for the first time, and now, all I could think about was touching her again. Stupid libido.

I tried to force myself to listen to her story about drawing celebrity portraits and slipping in German class, but my attention was on her face and how the dim lighting emphasized the beautiful contour of her cheekbones. I would have given anything to stroke them. I chanced a glance at her hands, which were resting on her now empty plate, and realized that grabbing them would be too awkward and too forward. At the same time, I was dimly aware of the fact that her leg remained a mere centimeter from mine and all I had to do was extend my leg_ just a little bit _and we'd be knocking knees once more. What was there to lose? I went for it.

"...And then my parents found out I had been _selling..._um, them, and so the next day they signed me up for classes...and, uh, yeah." Suddenly, Sam dropped her gaze from mine and looked like she had no idea what to say. I felt her move her leg so it wasn't touching mine, and I mentally slapped myself for my presumptuousness. I firmly kept my body parts to myself as I commented on her story and tried to forget about what just happened. And things sort of went back to normal for a little bit. But then Sam started to get an anxious, feverish look on her face and I got worried that something else was wrong.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Sure," she squeaked. "Why?"

"I don't know," I said as I searched her face. "You look kind of...flushed."

Instead of answering, she glanced down at her watch and said, "Oh, my God, would you look at the time? We better go if we want to get to that party."

I groaned inwardly. I really just wanted to skip the party entirely, but Sam looked like she really wanted to go. As we got up, though, I couldn't help the feeling that she wanted to go to the party because she'd be able to get away from me. God, what the hell was wrong with me? We had a good thing going and I just had to fuck it up. Again. Strike two for David.

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AN: As always, your kind reviews are really what keeps me going. This is for you guys!


	10. To Dissolve the Political Bands

AN: So October becomes November, yes, but I hope the bigger message that you get out of it isn't my lack of timeliness but that I'm still alive in the fanfic community and I'm still going to finish this story. I think this chapter is utter crap and ridden with errors but hopefully you'll enjoy it. Or, rather, not, since this is where poor David gets his heart broken. So I guess what I'm trying to say is...fuck, I dunno. It's late and I still have a ton of homework to do.

* * *

I had thought no car ride could have been worse than the previous one. I had been sorely mistaken.

Although it took only about 20 minutes to get from Jake's to Kris Parks' crib in Chevy Chase, it felt like eons. I tried, idiotically, to make small talk with Sam, thinking there was the slightest possibility that I could get the conversation flowing again. For my efforts, I was rewarded with noncommittal shrugs and one-word answers.

"Now," I said, after Sam killed my last conversation starter, "whose party is this?"

"Kris Parks," she said, continuing to stare out of the window.

"And I'm supposed to know who that is...?" I said. I'm not gonna lie, I was getting a little sick of her short responses by that point.

Apparently Sam registered the tone in my voice, for she finally looked at me and blushed a little. "Sorry. She's this...well, she's one of the popular girls at my school - the ones I was telling you about - and, well, I don't really like her, but she invited me, Lucy and my friend Catherine. And a bunch of other people are going...well, I don't really know most of them but - "

I stopped her right there, for she was making absolutely no sense. "Let me see if I can get this straight. This is a party being given by a person you don't like, at which will be a lot of people you don't know, and we're going...why?"

Sam's blush deepened as she explained that Catherine had always wanted to go a party like this but never got the invite until now and Sam was basically going as moral support. I just shrugged and said, "Okay," convinced that the night most certainly was not going to get better at this party.

My suspicions heightened the minute we were greeted by Kris Parks, who - judging completely by looks alone - appeared to be the total antithesis of Sam. "Ohmigod, you came!" she shrieked as she opened the door. Ears still ringing from the greeting, I walked inside and prayed that I wasn't going to be bombarded by hundreds of screaming teens.

I wasn't, thankfully. Instead, every single person in vicinity suddenly became silent and stared at us with wide eyes. The music shut off. And then the whispers started. It was as if we had just walked into a giant beehive, that's how intense it was.

The more they whispered, the more I realized they weren't just talking about me being there. Judging by the way they were looking at us - both of us - and the kind of smirky way with which they were whispering, it was clear they were talking about us being there _together_. I glanced at Sam, who started her mad blushing, and my thoughts were confirmed. I grinned. As bad as it sounds, their unabashed gossip filled me with some strange confidence that maybe - just maybe - there was still that possibility that I haven't blown my chances with Sam.

"Hi, I'm Kris," Kris said, holding out her hand and jerking me out of my thoughts.

I took it. "Hi, I'm David."

"Hi, David," Kris gushed, smiling sycophantically. She continued to jerk my arm up and down, and proceeded to relay a some grade A suck-up about how my dad's doing an impressive job running the country and how she would have voted for him if she had been old enough.

"Thanks," I said, trying to take my hand away from her python-like grip. "That was nice of you."

"Sam and I are just the best of friends," Kris said, showing no signs of wanting to let go of my hand. "Did she tell you? Since kindergarten practically."

I nearly laughed at the look on Sam's face when Kris said this, for it was covered with the utmost loathing. Sam opened her mouth angrily, most likely to call Kris out on her lie, but her friend Catherine and her date had found her. While they talked, I finally managed to extract my fingers from that behemoth of a handshake and turned to Sam.

"Want a Coke, or something?" she asked.

Only I couldn't hear her because someone had turned back on the pounding monstrosity of music that was playing earlier. "What?" I said loudly, really starting to wish we hadn't come to the party.

"Coke?" she bellowed.

"Sure," I yelled back. "I'll go get it."

"No," she said forcefully. "I invited you. I'll get it. I'll get one for John, too. You stay here, or we'll lose each other."

I watched her fight through the thicket of gyrating and grinding bodies until some drunken (and totally underage. I mean, I know John won't do anything about it, but it's a pretty dumb move on the party planners' part) jocks approached me and started asking me questions like if I "got a lot pussy on the regular." I told them sorry, I'm allergic to cats - but I'm really not - and try to sidle as far away as possible without leaving the general area. But that wasn't the end of my woes. Within the next 10 minutes, I was approached by more shamelessly candid people who I really did not care to deal with at the moment. One girl, however, captured my attention by talking about Sam.

"I think she reaaally likes you," she slurred into my face.

"Really?" I asked eagerly.

"Oh sure," she said, leaning into me. I took a step back. "I mean, I was at the table when her and Lucy were talking 'boutchya and she kept denying that you two were going out, but it was in that kinda way that's like too...too...you know, like, she was trying too hard to deny something?"

"Adamant?" I supplied.

"Yeah, that's it. She was toooo adamant. I got the feeling she was kind of like, 'I really don't think he likes me, so I'm not getting my hopes up, so I'll just keep pretending that I don't like him.' You know? I dunno. Anyway, do you wanna have sex?"

"Um, maybe if this whole Sam thing doesn't work out," I said absentmindedly, gently pushing her to the side. Although I totally did not appreciate (well, almost totally) her move on me, the girl had giving me exactly the impetus I needed to tell Sam exactly how I felt about her. Sure, considering her current state of mind, she probably did not give me the most trustworthy information to base such a decision on. But the girl's answer just seemed too perceptive to just ignore. And, after all, aren't people the most honest when they're drunk? I thought these things as I made my way throughout the crowd, and it only continued to boost my confidence.

After a long and unnecessarily arduous search for the non-alcoholic beverages, I eventually found Sam in a room off the kitchen talking to some guy. For a split-second, I feared she had ditched me to hang out with someone else. But then I noticed that she looked slightly bored as she listened to the guy talk rather enthusiastically about something, and figured she had been roped into a conversation against her will. The minute she saw me, she just simply brightened and I couldn't help but think that maybe that drunken chick was right.

"Hey," I said, returning the smile. "I wondered where you'd disappeared to."

"David," she said, "this is my sister Lucy's boyfriend, Jack. Jack, this is David."

I shook Jack's hand, taking all that I had within me to not burst out laughing. Jack was completely not who I had pictured as Lucy's boyfriend. I would have figured Lucy to date some football player, akin to those douches who came up to me earlier. This guy, on the other hand, appeared to be quite the character in his his army fatigues, ankh earring and a black overcoat (yeah, an overcoat. Indoors. Seriously, dude?) that screamed, "I am an anarchist, hear my rebellious roar!" The Hot Topic-inspired attire combined with this sort of imperious, fuck-the-world stance that was coming off him was, well, kind of laughable.

"David's in my art class," Sam said, clearly attempting to break the awkward silence that followed introductions.

"Oh," said Jack as he crumpled up his plastic cup (probably thinking he looked pretty bad-ass doing so), "you mean your conformity class?"

I looked at him questioningly. Sam glanced worriedly back and forth between us before saying, "No, Jack, it turns out it's not like that. I was totally wrong about Susan Boone. She just wants me to learn to draw what I see before I go off, you know, and do my own thing. You have to learn what the rules are, you see, before you can go around breaking them."

Jack looked at Sam as if she was speaking Esperanto. "_What?_"

"No, really," Sam said with more urgency and she proceeded to tell Jack what I had told her about Picasso. I listened to her, finally realizing what had fueled her initial skepticism of Susan's class.

After Sam did the whole Picasso shpeal, Jack just looked at her with disbelief and said, "Sam, I can't believe you, of all people, would fall for that pedagogic bull."

"Excuse me?" I said angrily. And my disdain increases.

Jack just raised his eyebrows at me and said, "Uh, I don't think I was talking to you, First Boy."

I opened my mouth to retort but Sam beat me to it. "Jack! What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with me?" Jack laughed bitterly. "That's not the question. The question is, what is wrong with _you? _I mean, you used to think for yourself, Sam. But now all of a sudden you're falling for all this 'draw what you see' crap like it's been handed down from the gods on a freaking stone tablet. What happened to questioning authority? What happened to making up your own mind about the creative process and how it functions?"

Now I'm not normally a violent person but the more bullshit that came out of this guy's mouth, the more I wanted to punch him in the face.

"Jack," Sam said exasperatedly. "I did make up my own mind. I - "

"Hey you guys," came a voice by the door. Momentarily distracted from the scene in front of me, I turned and saw Lucy, groaning inwardly with full knowledge of why she brought her gang of cheerleaders in tow. "Oh, hey, David, I've got some friends who want to meet - "

Luckily, Sam saved me from the meet-and-greet session by completely disregarding Lucy's presence. "I looked it up, Jack. David's right. Picasso was a technical virtuoso before he began experimenting with line and - "

"David," Jack said wryly. "Oh yes, I am sure David knows all about art. Because I"m sure he's had paintings publicly exhibited before."

As I heavily considered dishing out the many times my artwork has been regionally and nationally recognized - of course, ignoring the fact that being the son of a politician might have something to do with it - Lucy decided to join the conversation. "Like you have?"

I looked at her, surprised that she was challenging him. Jack looked pretty surprised too as he said, "Yes. As a matter of fact, I have had my paintings exhibited - "

"At the _mall_," Lucy retorted dryly. I couldn't help it, I smirked. Whatever negative impression I made of Lucy before completely evaporated at that moment.

However, Lucy's biting response did not seem to register as Jack continued to glare at Sam. "If I didn't know any better, Sam, I'd think it wasn't your arm you broke that day you saved this guy's dad, but your brain."

"Okay," I said, exceedingly pissed off. Now I really, _really_ wanted to punch him in the face. "Look, dude, I don't know what your problem is, but - "

"_My_ problem?" Jack exclaimed. "_I'm _not with the problem, _dude. _You're the one who seems so perfectly willing to let your individuality be sapped by a - "

"Okay," Lucy said, coming in between us and grabbing him by his coat. "That's it. Outside, Jack."

He blinked down at her stupidly. "But...Luce, this guy started it."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. 'This guy started it?' What was he, five? I seriously wondered what Lucy saw in the guy. I got the impression she was considering the same thing as she led him out the door to the backyard. "Right. Sure he did. Let's just step outside and get some air. How many beers have you had, anyway?"

The minute they left, I looked at Sam and asked, "What's with that guy, anyway?"

Sam looked sadly out the window as she said, "He's not so bad. He just, you know, has the soul of an artist."

"Yeah," I scoffed. "And the brains of an orangutan."

Suddenly, Sam fixed me with this weirdly admonishing stare and said, "Jack Ryder happens to be very, very talented. Not only that, but he is a rebel. A radical. Jack's paintings don't just reflect the plight of the urban youth of today. They make a powerful statement about our generation's apathy and lack of moral rectitude."

I looked at her incredulously, refusing to believe what she had just said. It honestly sounded like Jack had paid her to memorize that drivel and rattle it off whenever its necessary. I searched her face for any indication that she was joking or something, but found absolutely nothing. It just did not make sense. I thought we were on the same page about Jack. Why was she defending him like that? I continued to stare at her until finally occurred to me. The thought was so unpleasant, I felt almost sick trying to get the words out. "What? Do you _like _that guy, or something, Sam?"

I heard giggles behind me and just remembered that the cheerleading squad was still behind me, but I didn't care. Sam immediately started blushing and stopped making eye contact, and I felt stomach sink to my feet. "Duh," she said nervously. "He's Lucy's boyfriend, not mine."

"I didn't ask you whose boyfriend he was," I said, wanting a concrete answer. But I didn't need it; it was all over her face. She didn't bring me here because she liked me or, hell, that she valued my company as a friend. She brought me here to make her sister's boyfriend jealous. She used me. It all - everything that had sucked about this night - made sense now. I was and felt like a complete and utter tool. "I asked if you like him."

Suddenly she meets my gaze and my eyes are begging her to deny it, begging her to tell me that I'm completely wrong about her. She looked at me for a long time with unease and...something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Finally, she opened her mouth but suddenly, someone yells, "_There _you are!"

To make matters worse, which I really didn't think was possible at that moment, Kris Parks' waltzed in with sixty other kids who were apparently dying to meet me. If I wasn't the president's son, I would have told everyone to fuck off. But since I am, I was forced to forget about the fact that I felt like complete and utter shit and pretend that I had nothing better to do than shake hands with a bunch of spoiled rich kids. I walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

* * *

AN: I'm sorry but can I just express how annoying Sam is for staying on Jack's balls for _so long_? There's nothing _attractive_ about him. I mean, I know he's described as good-looking and all, but I pictured him as the douche-y good-looking type (you know, like the way Luke looks on the O.C. Even though I totally love Luke, but that's a whole 'nother tangent), which is simply not appealing. Because guess what? If you look like a douche, chances are highly likely that you are or were a douche sometime in your lifetime. Not that I'm speaking from personal experience or anything.

Okay, so reviews would be nice. I feel like I could have probably elaborated more on David's feelings but I got too impatient and figured I should just upload the damn thing. Story of my life, right? So let me know what you think about that, along with anything else that you noticed.

Peace and love. I'll peep ya in December. Hopefully.


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